Chapter 10 – Part Two

When they’d first headed out, taking advantage of the power vacuum created by the hag’s demise, they’d encountered nothing. Only on the second day, as the group picked up the pace, had things gotten interesting. A series of encounters with unnatural flora had slowed them as they avoided acidic sand and scattered rock fragments sharp enough to carve anyone’s feet, horse, orc, gnoll, or warforged, to ribbons.

Delegado kept any of them from getting hurt, of course, his senses were too finely attuned to the outdoors to allow it. But the sight of it raised everyone’s nerves. Everyone except Orphan. He felt good watching it. The more the half-orc absorbed himself in work, the less he would think about his losses. His father. Ois.

Especially Ois.

They had encamped at the end of the second day, and Delegado and the gnoll captain, K’gah was his name, were poring over terrain maps with the mustachioed Grullik. The orcs and gnolls made tents quickly and unloaded prepared firewood and food just as quickly. In the Wastes, if you were not disciplined, you were dead.

There was little for the warforged to do, really. If he tried to set up the camp he’d just be in the way. And as night fell he became almost a liability. The orcs and gnolls could see in the dark, and they only had the light of the fire for warmth. This gave Orphan little to see by. And the noise they made overwhelmed any ability of his to listen for intruders.

Orphan found himself with Nebly as company, and it didn’t take more than a few seconds of small talk before the gnome began peppering the Orphan with questions. Orphan would later learn it was called in ‘interview.’ It felt like a swarm of hyperactive bees made out of words.

“So Iron Dancer, or do I call you Iron?” Nebly began. “I was wondering – ”

“The orcs call me Dancing Orphan, I call myself Iron Orphan,” the warforged interjected politely.

“Right, you call yourself, no one gave you that name,” the gnome said, half to himself, as he pulled out a quill and parchment. The little humanoid frowned and then shook the ink bottle which had sludgy contents due to the cold. “So how did you get your independence? How do you feel about having an orc name? Did the orcs name you?”

“I named myself.”

“And did your maker let you name yourself or did you run away?” the little man continued. The quill flickered, as it conjured up ink for itself. “Did you leave your armor plating behind? Can other warforged take their composite plating off?”

Something made Orphan wary. This was more than the usual gnome curiosity. Nebly was trying too hard.

“Maybe I got the name when I was forged in the Mror Holds,” Orphan said. It would have been a bad lie, but he wasn’t trying to lie. He deliberately made himself sound sarcastic.

Oddly, after being around Delegado for so long, sarcasm was easy to mimic.

“No, you’re from –” Nebly caught himself. “Ah, somewhere west of there I think.”

“Nebly, go away,” Orphan said.

“Oh but Orphan!” Nebly protested. “I’m just doing my job, chronicling –”

Quick as a snake, Orphan’s hand darted out and seized the pen, which he then snapped between heavy fingers.

Nebly stared at Orphan, but not with shock or anger.

With a smirk that belonged on a chess player who is convinced that while this gambit failed, the next one will not.